Pink Triangle
by SexClown
Summary: Sebastian Michaelis meets Ciel Phantomhive, a homosexual French boy, while being processed by Nazi soldiers and both remain together for the duration of their imprisonment. Sebastian quickly realizes the only way out is to escape, but as Ciel continues to weaken, he is not sure they will both survive. He only knows that he loves the boy and cannot leave without him. (AU/OOC)
1. Chapter 1

When he looked back upon the events years later, he remembered that it started with snowfall.

He remembered how the snowflakes had danced through the air, alighting on the branches of trees and painting their boughs a glittering silver. How the courtyard lay under a blanket of pure white, cold and serene as the lines of soldiers marched to and fro. Their large black boots stomped down on the drifts of snow, obliterating them into icy fragments that clung to the legs of their trousers. Each polished boot fell in time and each time they did, it felt like an ultimatum. _We are superior to you_, proclaimed those big black boots. _We are superior and we will stamp you out_.

At the other side of the courtyard, a group of civilians huddled together, trying desperately to keep warm. Some were dressed in their street clothes, others in pajamas and heavy dressing gowns. One unfortunate soul stood in thin undergarments; his bony arms his only shelter from the bitter winter chill. A large scarlet boot-print stood out on the pale skin of his stomach. This was the first victim of the boots.

And where was he? He had been but a boy- twenty two years old and still wet behind the ears. Although he supposed he did not feel like a boy back then.

He remembered now- he had let himself be pushed to the back, taking refuge behind the motley crowd. He did not care to listen to the hisses and whispers that traveled from ear to ear. Each time they spoke, the words blurred and the message distorted. It was obvious they were pretending. Not one of them knew the real reason as to why they had been rounded up like stray dogs. Not one of them could rationalize why they had been dragged out of their bed and into the street, or why they had been escorted from their office by a grim-faced Gestapo officer. Germany had descended into an age of censorship and the common man had no choice but to remain ignorant. And however much they muttered to each other, it would never make up for such a lack of knowledge.

That boy- the boy he once was- lent against a concrete wall, his frozen hands shoved deep in his pockets. He was a wisp of a boy, one with impressive height but still skinny as a rake. Every part of his body ended in an angle. His elbows were too pointed and bruised easily, while his legs looked so brittle that he often marveled why they did not collapse underneath him. Under his thin crumpled shirt, large ugly grooves lurked under his collarbone and in between his ribs. Skeleton man, he called his reflection, turning away from the mirror as he dressed. All bones and no flesh. Hot prickles of shame plagued him every time he caught sight of his emaciated form. A fine German man was suppose to be strong and well-built, with calves as thick as tree-trunks and a chest like a beer barrel. In comparison, his waifish appearance was laughable and almost certainly signified some sort of genetic deficiency.

However, facially he supposed he was sound. His cheekbones were high and well formed. His eyes, at the very least, could be described as unique. They were crimson- the same color as his Mother's, or so his father proclaimed. _Seb_, he would boom from his seat by the fire, with a heartiness Sebastian would grow to associate with his childhood nickname, _Seb, my boy, I have only seen one other with such strange eyes in this land, and that was your dear mother. Maybe God left me a part of her in you, eh?_

Sebastian had never had the chance to look upon his Mother. The event of his birth was bittersweet- while he had burst into the world with a clatter of scalpels and forceps; she had quietly slipped out of it. His father loved him dearly, of course, and never showed any resentment towards his only son. But every year there was one day where his Father succumbed to grief. It was the anniversary of Sebastian's birth, and his Mother's death.

_Seb_, he whispered solemnly on the dusk of Sebastian's thirteenth, _you are changing. You are becoming a man, my boy and your Mother and I- we had this saying, that a man is only as good as the words he writes. That a true man knows the pen is mightier than the sword, so it goes without saying that his pen must be twice as glorious as any weapon_. The old German paused, taking a speckled blue handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbing at his heavily lined eyes. Wordlessly, he reached for a navy blue box on a low wooden table and handed it to his son. His large hands trembled- whether from his age, or nervousness, Sebastian could not tell. _Your Mother and I bought this for you three weeks before you were born, Seb. How happy she was- I remember how she glowed, with her big mink coat wrapped around her swollen belly. She got the pen engraved… She said she wanted to make sure if you ever lost it, it would always come back to you.. Well, go on, Seb. Take a look._

Sebastian cracked open the box slowly, hardly daring to let a breathe escape from his narrow chest. He felt like an explorer coming across the treasures of a lost tomb. Slowly, he slid the lid off and placed it on the table. Nestled in a bed of blue velvet was the finest silver fountain pen he had ever laid eyes upon. Even in the dim light it seemed to shine out iridescently to him, urging him to pick it up and place its nib to paper. And on the side engraved in the most delicate of cursive, was his name. Sebastian Michaelis.

The pen quickly became one of his most prized possessions, which was why as soon as the Gestapo had shown up on the doorstep of his office, he had hurriedly shoved it down his left sock. It sat there now, digging into his ankle every time he wriggled his foot. He wanted so much to retrieve it and feel its comforting weight between his fingers. But it was too risky. He had seen numerous men in the crowd having their watches ripped off by officers- those with fine gold neck chains ran the risk of being strangled; such was the urgency of the soldiers' greed.

Sebastian noticed the feet of the men in front shuffling backwards, and looked up. A young Gestapo officer was pacing in front of the crowd, his heels clipping together smartly with every step. He stuck out a leather-gloved hand and roughly pushed back the ragged edges of the crowd.

"Line up!" he barked, rubbing his hand furiously against the hem of his jacket. He spat on the lapel of a straggler, jabbing at him with the butt of his gun. His clear grey eyes were completely devoid of compassion- instead, hatred glinted coldly in the very depths of his dark pupils. "Get into line! Now!"

The officer looked like he had been carved out of marble. His white-blonde hair was plastered to his skull, enhancing his hawkish features. Under his sharply pressed uniform his muscles bulged and rippled alarming. Save for his clothes, he was colorless- a menacing wraith of a man. Sebastian quickly wedged himself between the shoulders of two men, dropping his eyes to the ground to avoid the officer's stern gaze. This, he knew, was someone not to be trifled with.

"He would benefit from a little light relaxation, no?" said a voice from Sebastian's left. Sebastian swiveled his neck, peering over his raised shoulder. He could just see long slate hair falling over the collar of a navy blue blazer.

"Do you not agree? He would have such better- how you say- people skills, if he took the time to smell the roses," the boy to his left continued, confident that he held Sebastian's attention. He turned his face towards Sebastian and, brushing a clump soft hair away from his forehead. He smiled; each tooth as white and perfect as a pearl button. "Oh, forgive me, I am so rude. My name is Ciel Phantomhive."

A French name. He was French, most likely a student completing studies abroad. It explained his odd accent, though it was not an unpleasant oddness. Not at all. The accent had a rich, smooth quality to it like dark, spiced chocolate dripping off a lacquered wooden spoon. It made his insides radiate with sudden warmth- not dissimilar to the sensation of swallowing a drop of brandy. After a moment Sebastian realized Ciel was looking up at him expectantly- no doubt waiting for him to also reveal his name. He felt his face grow warm with embarrassment.

"I'm Seb- Uh, Sebastian. Sebastian Michaelis," he replied, uncomfortably aware of his flushing cheeks. Ciel's smile grew wider, almost splitting his small heart shaped face in two.

"Sebastian! How delightful!" he cried, clasping his hands together. Each digit was small and perfectly formed, just like the hands of a child. Ahead in the line, the Gestapo officer twirled around. His blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the faces of the terrified citizens. To Sebastian's horror, Ciel continued to chatter merrily, ignorant of the danger that increased with each word.

"Well, I think we shall be quite good companions, Seb- are you still a student? I am a student. A student of music! My parents sent me to a German conservatory to further my studies. One day, I am hoping to play a concert of my own compositions in front of tens and thousands of people! Can't you just imagine it, Seb? Rows upon rows of them, sitting in velvet seats just to watch me play! I cannot think of anything I would rather do-"

The Gestapo officer had made his way down the line and was looming over the diminutive French boy , his fingers tapping impatiently on the barrel of his gun.

"- and to think, it was I who was blessed with such a gift! A wondrous gift! It is impossible for me to picture a life without music- without creation! Oh, pardon, I forget that not all creatives are musicians. There are artists, writers- but I know it would not be the same for me. You see, I was born to compose, Seb. I know it in my heart-"

"Ciel!" Sebastian hissed. He didn't dare break his gaze away from the officer, whose jaw was set in a cold, ruthless smile. The smile, he thought, of a steel trap about to clamp shut around someone's ankle.

"-it is like air to me, Seb! If I couldn't do it, I think I would die! I remember days when I had run out of paper and couldn't purchase more- I started drawing staves on the very walls in thick black ink! My landlady was furious! Though I soon sweetened her with an advance on three months' worth of rent! You know, Seb, you should come visit me- in fact, I insist it! I can run down to the delicatessen and pick up some little cakes and we can spend the whole afternoon discussing-"

"That," the Gestapo officer growled, "is quite enough."

Ciel merely looked at the soldier, an affronted expression on his face. His reaction was more suited to a guest at a party being interrupted in the middle of an anecdote. The blasé nature of his reaction chilled Sebastian to the very depths of his bones. Did he not understand? Could he not feel the tension in the air- tension so thick it was almost suffocating? But no-it was clear from his expression. The French boy did not understand. He was too innocent.

Too innocent to realize that the man in front of him could take his life without remorse- like swatting a fly.

"Pardon, sir. I was just in the middle of a conversation-" he began, tilting his head slightly to the side. A leather-clad fist connected with his jaw. There was a sickening crack and Ciel collapsed to the ground. He rolled over in the snow, flecks of white all over the back of his blazer. He clutched at the side of his face, his complexion suddenly ashen. He gazed up at the officer with an expression of utter bewilderment.

"Why did you do that?" he cried out. His only reply was a brutal kick to the stomach. Ciel fell forward, retching and gasping for air. Flecks of yellow bile flecked onto the snow- dangerously closed to the Gestapo's polished black boot. The officer saw this and snarled in disgust.

"French swine!" he hissed, placing his heel on the back of Ciel's neck. He lent forward and Ciel shrieked in pain. The officer shifted the weight of his boot and Ciel's screams turned into gurgles- his windpipe was being crushed between the sole of the shoe and the ground. Sebastian stared as the French boy struggled; transfixed by the pure brutality he was witnessing. What he was looking upon was a determination to kill- a kind of viciousness he had only ever stumbled across in the pages of newspapers. It was all too easy to read about women being battered to death or children smothered- to peruse the grim columns of newsprint without any greater understanding. But this- this was different.

This was real.

"Stop!"

Before he could stop himself, Sebastian lurched towards the soldier, grabbing him by the shoulders of his jacket. For a moment, the whole world seemed to slow. His ears were filled with a dull roar, broken up only by the beat of his heart. He watched as his fingers tightened around the material of the soldier's uniform. The muscles in his arms contracted and he pulled- harder than he ever pulled in his life. Suddenly, motion returned to the world. The soldier teetered, caught off balance. Sebastian yanked again, this time with more force.

"Stop! He can't breathe! _He can't breathe_!"

The soldier fell back. His foot slipped off Ciel's neck and skidded across the ground. The little French boy lay prone in the snow, his slate hair plastered to the back of his neck. For one terrifying moment Sebastian feared he was too late. Ciel's body looked lifeless- one small hand lay unfurled at his side like a wilted lily. But after a moment his shoulders shuddered and from his mouth came a loud, hacking cough. Sebastian dropped to his knees and helped lift the French boy into a sitting position. He barely weighed anything.

The small French boy lent back against his chest, the top of his head barely touching Sebastian's collar bone. A red welt was already appearing on the nape of his neck. Occasionally his breath would catch in his throat and through his jacket, Sebastian could feel his heart hammering. He was not the jovial creature he had been prior to his beating. Ciel had metamorphosed into a shivering, whimpering bundle of nerves, clinging to Sebastian like an infant clings to its mother's breast. Maybe he was in shock. In that case, he would need to get to somewhere warm, and soon. A cup of tea would be ideal- but of course, what kind of self-respecting Gestapo officer would offer a prisoner tea? Because, Sebastian realized, that was what they all were. Prisoners. And this treatment- this violent, brutal treatment- was just a way for the Gestapo to put them in their place.

"Can you stand?" he asked Ciel after a few moments. He felt uneasy about remaining on the ground for so long, like he was singling himself out as a target for abuse. It was a miracle in itself that the hawk-faced Gestapo officer had neglected to give him a solid beating for his earlier insubordination. Perhaps he was biding his time.

"Oui, I think so, if you help me," Ciel mumbled. His eyes still had a strange glassiness to them. Slowly, he eased himself onto his knees- and promptly fell backwards, straight into Sebastian's arms.

"I'm sorry, friend," the French boy said softly, his large blue eyes only just visible under his messy fringe. Sebastian felt a twinge go through his heart. Ciel had the expression of a wounded dog- faithful and with unyielding trust for his master. He closed his eyes for a moment, thick black lashes resting on the tops of his smooth cheeks. "I seem to be feeling a touch weak. Let me try again."

"In line! In line!" came a shout from the opposite end of the courtyard. Sebastian glanced upwards. Three soldiers were surveying the group of men, one with a dark wooden box tucked under his arm. They stopped at each man, taking their left arm and pressing something to their shoulder. If someone struggled, they were subdued with a blow to the stomach. The officers did not like having their time wasted.

"Come on," he muttered to Ciel. "I'll lift you. Ready?"

He wrapped his arms around Ciel's chest and heaved him upright. Ciel managed to steady himself, and asked quietly that Sebastian let him go. Sebastian dropped his arms and stepped to the side, letting Ciel stand next to him in the space he had newly created. It was just in time. The three soldiers with the box had almost reached their section of the line, and the self-satisfied smirks on their faces were undeniable.

"Name?" an officer asked curtly, a wooden clipboard balanced on his palm. Here was another example of German perfection. Underneath his cap his hair was a fine golden blond and slightly curled at the ends, and his eyes were the deep rich blue of the ocean. At this moment his expression was stern, but around his eyes and mouth were traces of past smiles. He looked like the sort of man that went home every day to the smell of roasting meat and the tinkling laughter of his children. Sebastian knew the type. A typical family man with the job of a monster.

"Sebastian Michaelis," Sebastian replied. He let his eyes wander over the faces of the other two men. They were both unremarkable- almost clones of each other, with their slicked back hair and smart green uniforms. They were the kind of men Sebastian saw at clubs he frequented, the ones that always lurked in the darkest corners with a glass filled with ice... and left in the early hours with a man on their arm.

These clubs were no secret in Germany. Or at least, they never used to be. It was considered perfectly natural for a young gentleman to spend an evening in such a place, consorting with other like-minded gentlemen. They were places for speaking ones' mind, for debating politics and religion, for sharing views on art, poetry and occasionally drinks. And if after a delightful evening, two strangers decided they wanted to continue their conversations in a more private setting... So be it.

Sebastian could remember his very first visit to such a place. It was an idea suggested by his friends one day, after they had noticed Sebastian's utter disinterest in public drinking houses. Three women had approached him that particular night and he had ignored all of them. Even when one had trailed her fingernails over the nape of his neck, he had merely continued to stare into the base of his glass. This did not pass by unnoticed. At the end of the night, one of his friends sidled up to him- a scruffy lad in a large grey overcoat that had a habit of tucking cigarettes behind his ear. He handed Sebastian a small card, and whispered that if Sebastian was what he thought he was, he would find more excitement in a place like this. After Sebastian pocketed the card, he made himself scarce and Sebastian returned home.

It took him more than a week to pluck up the courage to visit such a place. Every evening he paced in front of his mirror, haphazardly tossing jackets and shirts around the room. He promised himself that if he could find the right combination of garments, he would depart for the club at once. Each night he found himself a little closer to the right blend of clothing, of shades and materials. But every time he went to put on his hat, he swore vehemently and tore off his outfit, tossing it onto his growing pile of rejected items. Nothing felt right.

Then one night, out of sheer exasperation, he gave up. He knew he was making excuses not to go. Truthfully, he was frightened of what he might discover. Love was a side of human nature he had never found much interest in... At least, not until someone had pointed out his utter disinterest in the women around him. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps his affections did belong to other gentlemen. And so what if they did? Germany was not like the rest of the world. A man could seek male company in Berlin without fearing for his freedom.

The club looked unassuming from the outside. It was a plain, sturdy wooden and plaster building- one of the few that had survived the turmoil of the Great War. At the door stood a slim gentleman in a brown velvet suit. He saw Sebastian and nodded knowingly, holding the door open for him. Inside was a different world altogether. The foyer of the building was bathed in a soft reddish glow. Dim gas lamps lined the side of the staircase. From upstairs came the sound of laughter and champagne corks popping. Hesitantly Sebastian climbed the stairs and stepped through into the bar. Around him floated aromas of aftershave and cigar smoke. The place was furnished with red leather seats and squashy sofas, and on the right side of the room was a bar carved from fine ebony. In every section of the room men's voices could be heard. Sebastian remembered clinging to the door frame, dazed by the wondrous sight before him. For the first time in years he felt a sense of belonging.

"Ah, Herr Michaelis," the officer said, his pen flicking over his clipboard. Sebastian forced himself to focus and met the man's eyes. "Yes, the pink for you. Hold out your arm."

"My left?"

"_Jawohl_. Quickly. We do not have time to waste."

Sebastian obeyed the order and stuck out his arm. The soldier turned to his comrades and beckoned for the box to be brought closer. He rummaged around inside it, finally pulling out a triangle of pink fabric. He roughly slapped it onto the sleeve of Sebastian's coat with a satisfied grunt. Sebastian regarded it with confusion.

"Why did you give me this?"

The officer snorted. "You don't know, do you? Not many of you seem to. Maybe if you did, half of you wouldn't be here. Did you not hear about what our Hitler Youth did to the Institute of Sex Research? The Fuehrer doesn't take kindly to threats to his Master Race. The only thing saved from the burning was the lists of homosexuals in Germany. And that, Herr Michaelis, is why you have a pink triangle. You have been arrested for engaging in degenerate homosexual activities and will be sent shortly to a labor camp for rehabilitation. Good day, Herr Michaelis."

On that final note, the officers tramped away to disperse more badges. Sebastian stood frozen, staring at the pink material fixed to his coat sleeve. His brain felt like it had turned into a slow, sludgy soup. It couldn't be true. Surely his country had not changed that drastically. Germany was meant to be a safe haven for men like him. But now they were being persecuted? How could someone be persecuted for something they could not help? He had never asked for these thoughts, these feelings. They had just occurred as naturally as a flower sprouting from soft soil. It was who he was, his identity. He could not be condemned for that, surely. And yet here he was- being taken to a prison camp. His whole world felt like it had been inverted.

"You too, huh?" a soft voice spoke beside him. Sebastian felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down. Ciel was clutching his cuff, his left shoulder thrust towards him. A pink triangle dangled from his blazer. Ciel dipped his head bashfully, the corners of his lips quirked up in a small smile. "I was hoping you might be."

He took Sebastian's hand between his and squeezed it gently. "Do not worry _mon ami_. It is all a misunderstanding. We shall be released soon enough, and perhaps then we can have our talk in my apartment. Until then, I am sure we will be capable of looking after each other, yes?"

Sebastian could only nod in return. He did not trust himself to speak. Not yet. He watched numbly as the hawk-faced soldier returned, dragging a wooden box behind him. He hopped on top of it with surprising gracefulness, a silver megaphone clutched in his right hand.

"All prisoners will proceed to the west exit of the courtyard!" he shouted into the device. "You will line

up and be sorted into trucks that will take you to the Labor Camp! Any stragglers will be dealt with severely!"

Immediately the line of men began to move forward. Those who had witnessed Ciel's beating had no desire to be "dealt" with. Sebastian was quickly swept up by the crowd. They buffeted him along until he reached the West gate, where the line suddenly halted. Ten large black trucks were lined up in the lane, all emblazoned with the symbol of the Secret Service. At the head of the line was an elderly officer. He peered down his spectacles at the men before him, searching for the symbols on their shoulders. Once he had identified them, a group of officers came to sort them into a truck. They were not very gentle. From the looks of things, the officers were throwing men in on top of each other, with no regard for the prisoners' comfort or safety. Sebastian spun around, frantically searching the crowd for Ciel's small face. In all the commotion of the journey he had accidentally let Ciel's hand slip from his own. When minutes passed and he still could not see the French boy's face, he became filled with anxiety. The thought of being alone in the back of one of those trucks terrified him.

A shout came from the front of the crowd. Sebastian had been spotted. Within seconds he was surrounded by a selection of Gestapo officers- all well-built and grim-faced. One of them grabbed his arms and yanked them behind his back, while the others pressed up against his shoulders. Together they roughly pushed him over to the back of a truck, before suddenly hoisting him into the air. Sebastian heard three counts and suddenly no hands supported him. He felt the air rushed past his ears as he fell back into the truck, landing against a section of the wall with a loud crash. Around him men stirred and groaned, obviously recovering from their own rough journeys. Sebastian huddled against the wall, petrified by the darkness surrounding him. Where were they headed? And where was Ciel?

Time passed and more and more men were shoved into the truck. The space became a sea of bodies; a claustrophobic carpet of arms and legs. Sebastian supposed he was luckier than most. He had managed to crawl into a corner, and at least had room to move his head and to breathe. He pitied those who were pinned on the very bottom. It was all too likely some would suffocate before the conclusion of their journey. He hoped wherever Ciel was, he had space to breathe.

That was when he heard it. A noise in the darkness- only a little more than a groan. It called out to him, seeking him among the pile of bodies. "Seb? Seb? Are you in here?"

"Ciel?" Sebastian croaked. He could not bring himself to believe it. He supposed it was possible for the boy to have been sorted into the same truck, but he sounded so close! Tentatively he reached out, brushing his hand along the wall of legs in front of him. "Ciel, I'm here! Where are you?"

"To your right, I think," came the reply. "Hold on- I think I can wriggle towards you. Excuse me, gentlemen... _Merci, merci_- oh, _pardon_!"

Sebastian fell someone fall heavily across his legs and yelped.

"Sorry, Seb. That was clumsy of me," Ciel whispered, giggling quietly. "Could you lift your arm? It will make this a bit easier on the both of us, as well as the gentlemen around us."

Sebastian did as he was requested and the French boy slithered into the nook under his arm, leaning his head against Sebastian's shoulder. For a moment Sebastian debated shrugging away from Ciel, as he was not entirely comfortable with this sudden display of affection. But he soon weakened- after all, he was headed to a strange place, surrounded by men he did not know. It was a comfort to have someone beside him.

"Where do you think we're headed, Ciel?" he asked. He felt the French boy shrug.

"I do not know. A work camp of some sort. It could be anywhere. I am not frightened, though. You see, I am confident this unpleasantness will be cleared up in a matter of weeks. And when it is, I will make sure that brute of an officer suffers the consequences of his actions. Just you wait!"

Sebastian was surprised by Ciel's optimism. He had gathered the boy was of a sunnier disposition than most, but this was bordering on naivety. He could not bring himself to argue, though. As much as he hated to admit it, a part of him hoped that Ciel was correct and all would be well soon enough. Besides, he was tired. The stress of the day had worn him out completely. He let his head droop forward, using the French boy as a support.

"Wake me when we arrive, Ciel?" he murmured sleepily. Ciel laughed quietly.

"Only if I am also awake, Sebastian my friend."

In a matter of minutes the two were fast asleep, using each others' shoulders as makeshift pillows. They slept among the mess of bodies, gently rocked by the motion of the truck travelling along a long dirt road.

It was the last truly peaceful sleep they would have for a long time.

* * *

**If any historical errors feature in this story, please do tell me- I wrote this as an exercise for English and my resources were rather limited. Review? Do you like it? Hate it? Tell me! **


	2. Chapter 2

Months passed. Rest only ever came at nightfall. The days were long and each hour seemed to stretch and warp until every second felt eternal. In the camp, time could not be trusted. It played tricks on the mind. Many a man had lost their wits by letting their thoughts be ensnared by time. The best thing to do was ignore it completely, and hope to God that the end of the day would come quickly.

Sebastian flopped onto a pile of sacking, wincing as the muscles in his legs twitched and burned. Every part of his body was afflicted with a persistent soreness. Someone had said to him on the very first day of labor that it was not the first day, but the second day that was the worst. Sebastian disagreed. He knew now that the third was worse than the second, and fourth worse than the third. Every day the pain increased. The trick was knowing how to survive it.

Every prisoner was expected to sustain themselves on one small meal a day, if they were lucky. A common punishment in the camp was to be denied food and water. The severity of the punishment depended on the badge on a person's arm. If they had a pink triangle, they would receive a beating instead of their meal. It was not unusual to walk around camp and spot many young men with shattered noses and broken teeth. Out of all the prisoners, those wearing pink triangles were despised the most. Even the other prisoners singled them out for abuse.

Sebastian laid back, unable to concentrate on anything but the throbbing ache in his limbs. The work was destroying his health. What little body fat he still had was rapidly melting away. Often he'd see black spots dance in front of his eyes while he worked, or his head would suddenly feel drained of blood. He had to fight to stay conscious, for to pass out was a danger in itself. Too many times he had seen fallen workers taken away and never returned. Some optimists in the camp put forward the notion that they had been hospitalised, but Sebastian was not that naive. He knew of the pile of corpses behind the camp that was growing larger every day. Every man, woman and child in this camp was here to be worked to death. It was nothing more than a badly disguised extermination.

Through the gates stumbled a tiny figure, clutching at itself with thin limbs and wailing pitifully. Sebastian forced himself to sit up and look closer. It was Ciel who was crying out so loudly- searching for him, no doubt. The poor boy did not realise that his cries were provoking disgust in his fellow prisoners- far from having tolerance for moments of weakness, they saw it as a way to single out fresh targets. Someone in front of Sebastian jeered loudly and pegged a rock-hard lump of bread at the little French boy. It hit him on the side of the head and bounced off, falling into the hands of a ravenous elderly woman. Ciel ignored the shouts of abuse and pressed on, staggering through the sea of bodies and blankets. Finally he found Sebastian's patch of sacking and collapsed beside him.

"... Seb... Seb!" he sobbed, his fingers clutching at Sebastian's ragged shirt. His hands had changed since they had come to the camp. They were no longer the soft, elegant fingers of a master musician. Dirt had colored his nails an earthy brown and yellowed calluses formed in hard lumps all over his hands. The two shortest digits on his left hand were twisted and gnarled- they had been snapped mercilessly under the sole of a Nazi boot a few weeks before. Before that event Ciel could still talk of music with a gleam of hope in his eye. Now, he seldom spoke at all.

"Sh, Ciel. Shh. I'm here," Sebastian whispered. He attempted to draw the French boy into his arms, but stopped suddenly. As soon as his hand had touched Ciel's back, Ciel had winced in pain. He felt his heart sink. "What did they do to you?"

Ciel blinked tears of pain out of his eyes. "Another experiment, Seb! T-t-the doctor came for me and dr-dr-dragged me out of work camp and-"

"Turn around," Sebastian instructed firmly. He saw Ciel's undamaged hand tremble and grasped it tightly. "Please, Ciel... Let me see."

The French boy looked up at him, his once glimmering blue eyes dulled with pain. Wordlessly he let go of Sebastian's hand and turned around. The back of his shirt was soaked through with dark blood. The freshest was at the center- it was a bright crimson that made Sebastian's stomach flip in disgust. Around the edges it was a crusty brown like a frame of bark. Sebastian began to peel the shirt off Ciel's back, murmuring apologies every time the French boy winced or stiffened. Underneath the shirt was an ugly, gaping wound, only just held together by a line of crude black stitches. Around the edges the blood had dried black and formed scabs- these stuck to the shirt and caused bits of skin to rip away from the flesh. Already new areas of trauma were starting to bleed.

" They cut you open," Sebastian murmured, his eyes suddenly clouded with tears. Ciel laughed shakily.

"Oh yes, they cut me- right down my spine. Told me that they wanted see what a swish looks like on the inside. I suppose I was lucky they didn't flip me over on the table and gut me like a fish!"

His wild laughter quickly changed back to sobs. Sebastian stroked his arm softly, wishing he could be more of a comfort. But right now he needed to take care of Ciel's wound, before infection set in. Already he had been forced to nurse his companion through several fevers, and he knew the boys immune system was weak. If the wound became gangrenous, he was dead. Luckily Sebastian had managed to bribe a guard for a small bottle of antiseptic lotion. He had spent days hunting for dropped cigarettes to pay for the medicine. But it was worth it to safeguard Ciel's health. Sebastian was determined that they would both survive this.

"This might sting a little," he said quietly, fishing the bottle out from under the sack. He uncorked it and splashed a small amount on the wound, biting his lip as Ciel shrieked in surprise. "It's medicine, Ciel, so your wound doesn't get infected. I don't want you to die on me."

Ciel's shoulders slumped. He took a low, shuddering breath.

"Maybe I'd prefer to die, Seb."

"Don't be stupid," Sebastian said sharply. "You're going to live through this- you and me both. And when we get out, we'll finish your tour of Europe together, and you can play in the grandest concert halls while I sit and sketch the audience. And after we finish your tour, we'll go see your parents in France, maybe find a nice apartment in Paris and spend all day lounging about talking about art. Isn't that what you want, Ciel?"

"It was, once," Ciel sighed. The camp had aged him. No longer was his face soft and childlike- instead, it was all harsh angles and sunken hollows. His slate hair was matted and his fringe completely obscured his eyes. To his parents, he would be unrecognisable. "But I doubt I'll ever play again, Seb. Not with my hand like this. I guess that is something else the soldiers have taken from me, huh? They weren't content with my freedom. They had to take my music too."

"Hush," Sebastian whispered. He shuffled around until he faced the French boy, raising a hand to the side of his jaw. Gently, he tilted Ciel's head upwards until he could see his tired eyes. "We'll fix your hand, even if it costs all the money we have. I promise you that. Just don't lose hope. Don't say you want to die."

A single tear rolled down Ciel's cheek. "But I'm so tired, Seb. I'm tired, I'm in pain and every day, I starve. Why can't I wish for death?"

"Because I need you here," Sebastian said quietly. "I need you to keep me going. I need you so I'm not alone."

He lifted his hand and smoothed Ciel's hair away from his forehead. He placed a kiss on the smooth white flesh hidden there, before pressing Ciel's face to his chest. He sat there silently as the boy wept, his tears damp against his skin. He wanted so much to take away Ciel's pain, even if it meant suffering for him. For he had fallen in love with the frail creature sobbing in his arms, and it was a love that had more strength than any love he had ever known... and on some level, he knew it was destroying him.

"Ciel," he said, once the worst of the sobs had passed. "Do you remember what you tried to teach me a few nights ago?"

Ciel snuffled heavily into the side of his shirt. His arms were wrapped tightly around Sebastian's waist. "No. What was it?"

Sebastian chuckled quietly. "I believe you were trying to teach me how to say 'I love you' in French, but I annoyed you by not saying it correctly. I would love to try again, if you are willing."

Ciel paused for a moment. He lifted his head away from Sebastian's chest and gave him a tentative smile.

"_Je t'aime_," he said finally. "You say je t'aime if you want to say 'I love you.'"

"Thank you," Sebastian said. He paused for a moment. "Ciel, _je t'aime_."

"_Moi aussi, je t'aime_," Ciel replied softly, snuggling against Sebastian's chest. "I love you too."


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy ending? Find out...**

* * *

Eventually the year turned full circle. After toiling through heat, damp, rain and sleet, Christmas came again. The only way Sebastian could tell was that the officers were perhaps a little more lenient usual. They spoke of receiving fine Sherries from their wives, and how their darling children would be so thrilled with their gifts this year. Some even complained of gaining a belly from all the turkey and cranberry sauce they had been forced to consume. They likened it to torture, to being fed to death.

The skeletons that surrounded them turned their sunken eyes to the ground and tried not to think of the concave hollows where their stomachs used to be.

Sebastian had mastered the art of staying alive. The secret was to turn off all unnecessary functions. Laughter, weeping- even talking wasted precious calories. To stay alive, one had to take a vow of silence. As well as saving energy, it also prevented beatings. It was difficult to provoke someone non verbally. However, some didn't need to be provoked. They would attack anyway, because that was what was in their nature.

He had not seen a mirror since before his capture. In a way, he was thankful for that. He would probably look upon his reflection without any recognition. In the days before his capture, he believed that it was impossible for him to become any more emaciated. He was wiser now. Through the year it felt as if he had lost mass in his very bones. Once he complained of looking skeletal; now he realized his whole body was as brittle as a dried twig. Where his skin was once youthful and smooth to the touched, it was dull, papery and stretched over his bones like the thin skin of a drum. In the space of a year he had turned into a non-person, a corpse stumbling around above ground. Every day he could feel the eyes of officers watching him. They were waiting for him to drop. Well, he would not drop. Not for them.

He was stronger than most- he knew that now. Most certainly he was stronger than Ciel. Poor, sweet Ciel. The boy still lived, but it wasn't really living. At some point of the year, his mind had snapped. Perhaps it was the morning when he woke up to find he had lost two more fingers to frostbite. Or maybe it was when the Nazi doctors dissected a ligament in his upper thigh, causing him to contract an almost deadly infection. It could have even been the consequence of one beating too many- and oh, how they loved to beat Ciel. They used his small stature against him; slamming their fists into the small of his back, propelling their knees into the center of his face. The hits to the kidneys were the worst. Sebastian could always tell when Ciel had been hit in the kidneys. When he got up to urinate, blood would splash onto the ground.

Ciel had forgotten how to take care of himself. It was like living with a senile old man. He, like Sebastian, had given up speaking- but it was more frightening, like the boy had no other choice. He would not eat unless Sebastian forced him. During work parties he would drop his shovel and wander off, and Sebastian would have to bring him back before an officer decided to pick him off with a shot from his rifle. The worst was his sudden incontinence. He would sit on the ground with an absent expression on his face. Sometimes this would anger Sebastian, and he would scold the French boy like an infant. But Ciel didn't seem to hear him. And then Sebastian would break his careful silence and weep. He would weep for his guilt, for what had become of them all. But most of all, he would weep for the loss of the boy he fallen in love with.

Sometimes, during these moments, he would lose hope. He did not think he could survive another year waiting for rescue; a rescue that in all likelihood would never come. The outside world had forgotten the names of Sebastian Michaelis and Ciel Phantomhive. By now another tenant would be in his apartment and all his belongings would have been thrown to the beggars. If he ever returned, it would be like he had never existed.

In these times, he remembered what Ciel had said- that he would prefer to die. In the state he was in, perhaps it would be kinder to just let him slip away. Perhaps when the next sickness came, Sebastian would not help him fight it. He would do his love a kindness and let him go. But could he bear to see Ciel suffer through sickness? He was not sure he could let himself stand by if the boy was in pain. Maybe it was better to take things into his own hands. He had heard tales of doctors in the camp that put patients out of their misery- mercy killings, they called it. Could he do the same to Ciel? He did not have the right drugs, but there were other ways. While the boy slept, he could gently place the sacking over his face and hold it down until the breath was gone from his body. But truthfully, he knew he was not capable of that either. He was too selfish. He needed Ciel. The boy was the only one he was keeping his strength for. If he lost him, he feared he might also lose what little sanity he had left.

So he waited. He waited for an opportunity. Each day while working, he studied the high barbed wire fences, the cold concrete buildings. He was searching for a weak point- a breach in the guards' defenses. All it would take was one moment of carelessness and he and Ciel could be free again. The thought of escape consumed him- he could think of nothing else. He would take Ciel to his concert halls. He would sit and sketch the audience. All he needed was a chance of escape. Just one chance.

They were digging latrines in the yard when it happened. A group of red-faced soldiers staggered towards them, laughing boisterously. Sebastian stopped digging and laid his shovel on the ground. Protectively he edged in front of Ciel, suspicious of these men. An officer approached him and gave him a merry slap across the shoulder. Sebastian didn't react. He merely stared at the men in front of him.

"Come, you two!" the officer shouted. He swayed where he stood. The smell of cheap wine wafted from his mouth. "We have a special duty! No more digging, no more digging- come with us please, sirs!"

"What do you want?" Sebastian croaked. His voice was dry from lack of use. The officers laughed heartily.

"You'll see, you'll see- all in good time, mien Herr. Follow us, please. We are going on a little excursion! Bring your little friend, yes- always room for more! Come along!"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. He was certain they were trying to rope them into something- a group experiment, or a fatal trip to the showers. It was common knowledge that the drunken officers were always the most brutal and unpredictable. The alcohol freed their urge to kill, their urge to destroy. Only last week four prisoners had been doused in petrol and set alight- just after a Christmas party. They burned in the night like human candles, their screaming faces melting like wax. But to refuse the orders of an officer was to invite an execution. There was really no choice in the matter. They had to follow.

Silently he took Ciel's hand and began to walk after the officers. Ciel followed along without any struggle, humming to himself quietly. To Sebastian, it almost sounded like a piece by Bach. A few weeks ago he would have welcomed that as a sign of Ciel's return to clarity, but it was not so. Ciel hummed pieces of music constantly. If anything, it was another facet of his delirium.

The officers led them towards the back gate of the compound. As they passed a certain building, Sebastian shuddered involuntarily. He tried not to look too closely at the bullet holes peppering the surface of the wall, or the dried brown stains on the grey concrete. That wall was where most executions took place, and he breathed a sigh of relief once they had passed it.

One of the officers approached the large iron gate, taking a ring of keys from his jacket pocket. Idly he swung them about, whistling an old German tune to himself. Sebastian watched the metal glitter in the cold sunlight, utterly transfixed. In that moment, those keys were the most beautiful things in the world. Smiling, the officer lowered them and fitted one into the lock. With a small click, it was undone and the gates were pushed open. Sebastian felt his breath hitch in his chest. He was looking out onto an open field for the first time in a year. For once, the snowy white grounds were not obscured by lines of iron bars. He was gazing upon the freedom that haunted his every waking thought.

"Move forward, please," the officer at the gate instructed, pointing out at the field. "Outside the gate."

Sebastian moved slowly, feeling as if he was in a dream. An officer moved behind him and shoved him in the back, forcing him to increase his pace. He pulled Ciel along with him, stepping into the center of the field. The air was crisp and cool. Underneath his feet, he could feel the blades of frost-covered grass. He struggled to stop tears from springing to his eyes. He had missed grass the most.

"That's good, center field!" an officer called out merrily. Something black and shiny gleamed in his hand. Sebastian squinted, trying to see what the object was. He was suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding. "But mien Herr, could you turn to your side? So your left side is facing us, please- yes, that is fine. Now... just stay still. Stay very still."

The soldier lifted the object in front of him, pointing it towards the triangle on Ciel's shoulder. And suddenly, Sebastian realized what it was. The soldier was holding a pistol. They were being used for target practice.

The barrel of the gun stared at them like an empty black eye. The soldier's fat pink thumb eased in behind the trigger, slowly pressing forward. There was a muffled bang and Sebastian heard himself shout something out- a name, a warning, he couldn't tell what, didn't care either because there were bullets flying through the air straight towards Ciel and the stupid boy was just standing there-

This was their chance. They had to run now. If they didn't, they would die.

To Sebastian's amazement, the first bullet missed Ciel entirely. It went soaring over his left shoulder and into the forest behind him. But not all of them would miss. One would eventually find its mark.

"Ciel!" he screamed, running towards the boy. His legs felt shaky underneath him- they had forgotten how to move so quickly and he wasn't sure how long they could hold out. "Ciel! Grab my hand!"

Ciel turned his head and stared at Sebastian, his blue eyes utterly blank. His arms stayed flat at his sides. Sebastian swore and kept running. By now, the soldiers had realized something was up. He could hear shouts behind him- the sound of more guns behind fired. He curled his hand around Ciel's wrist and yanked the boy forward. Together they stumbled over the uneven ground while bullets whistled through the air, sprinting towards the forest as fast as their withered legs could carry them.

"Come on, Ciel," Sebastian panted, dragging the boy behind him. "Come on- just into the forest. We can rest when we get to the forest!"

His lungs were on fire. Every time he breathed it felt like the air was laced with mustard gas. All he could hear was the crunching of boots over the frost-covered ground. The soldiers would pursue, but not for long. He hoped to God a bullet didn't catch him or Ciel in the leg. If that happened, they might as well be dead.

The plain of grass turned into leaf litter and dirt. They had made it into the forest. Sebastian laughed wildly. Perhaps they would make it after all. Behind him, he felt Ciel jerk forwards, stumbling into his back. Sebastian grasped the boy's hand tighter and kept running. He had probably tripped over a tree root. There was a large circle of shrubs in front of them- they could hide there and rest for awhile, before continuing with their journey. He dove forward with Ciel in tow, landing in the middle of a wide leafy bush. He rolled over on the ground, his thin lips parted in a victorious smile. They were out. They were free!

"Ciel!" he cried out joyously. "Ciel, we've made it! We can go see your concerts! We can get that apartment in Paris! No more soldiers, no more beatings- we are safe, Ciel! Safe at last!"

The French boy didn't reply. Sebastian propped himself up on his elbows, looking up at him. Ciel was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, hugging himself with his tiny frail arms. His face had an odd, pale sheen to it and his breathing was ragged - though Sebastian assumed that was from the run. He stared at Sebastian with eyes that looked like black holes torn in his white face. His lips moved soundlessly.

"What's the matter, Ciel?" Sebastian asked. He scrambled up onto his knees, moving closer to the boy. "Are you all right?"

Ciel shook his head slowly. He opened his mouth to speak- and a thin stream of blood bubbled down his chin. For a moment his young blue eyes were filled with surprise- he touched a hand to his mouth and lifted his bloodstained fingers to his mouth, studying them closely. Then with a small sigh, he fell forward, his tiny face planting into the ground.

In the center of his shoulder blades was a small dark hole, surrounded by blossoms of blood.

"No," Sebastian breathed. The elation he had felt only moments before had vanished, replaced by a dull hollow ache. Slowly he lifted Ciel away from the ground, cradling him in his thin arms. The French boy gazed up at him with glassy eyes, his pink mouth slightly open in a soft "o" of surprise. Sebastian brushed the crumbs of dirt on his face away with trembling fingers. This was not how it was supposed to end. They were meant to escape to France! They were meant to spend the rest of their lives together, living in harmonious bliss! Hadn't he just said? No more soldiers, no more beatings. It was supposed to be their time now!

He flinched as a tear fell from his eye and splashed onto Ciel's pallid cheek. Wasn't that all they had talked of while trapped in that place? Wasn't that the one thing that had kept his will strong, his mind intact? He couldn't lose him now- not just after they had escaped. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

"Hey," he whispered. His voice felt choked, like his heart was stuck in his throat. "Hey, it's all right. We can fix this. I can get you to a doctor now. We'll still get to Paris."

Ciel merely let his eyelids flutter closed, his head falling to one side. Sebastian shook him roughly.

"No! Stop that! Stay awake, you hear me? You hear me, Ciel? We are going to Paris! You are going to a doctor and then we are going to Paris!"

Ciel lifted his head feebly, half-opening his eyes. Sebastian laughed shakily, his cheeks wet with tears.

"See? You can do it- you've always been strong. So, so strong. I know you can hold on, for me. Just hold on for me, please!"

With difficulty Ciel raised his right hand, placing a small finger across Sebastian's lips. He gave him a weak smile and shook his head.

"I was never... the strong one, Seb," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. "That was... you."

Sebastian shook his head violently. For a moment he hated Ciel's smile, hated feeling his finger pressing on his lips. That smile- that smile was Ciel's way of giving up. He couldn't let him go. He couldn't let him leave him here. Not now. Not after all this.

"Don't say that, Ciel- don't say that! You have to stay with me!"

"..._Je t'aime_... Seb..."

His arm fell, and with one last shuddering breath, he was still.

Sebastian felt a high, keening wail rip itself from his throat. He hunched over Ciel's lifeless form, pressing the boy's tiny head to his chest. In this dead boy lay the destruction of his whole world. Now when he thought of the future, instead of seeing grand concert halls and an apartment in Paris, he saw... nothing. Let the Nazis come and take him. Let them stand him against the wall and spray him with bullets. Let them force him to fall, to die alone spread out on a dirt floor. It didn't matter now. Nothing did.

For a long time that was how he stayed. Hours passed and he still sat there, holding Ciel's cold lifeless body. Around him, the forest was still. Not a creature approached him in his time of grief, not even the smallest of insects. When rain splattered through the leaves of the trees above him, he felt as if even the sky was weeping for his loss.

Soon he was soaked to the bone and shivering uncontrollably. Droplets of water dripped from his hair onto Ciel's still face- he gently dried them away with the base of his shirt. He supposed Ciel looked peaceful, and for that he was thankful- after a year of such torment, he deserved to find peace. If he ignored the gauntness of his face, and the tangles in his hair he could almost pretend that it was the Ciel he had met over a year ago. He could pretend that the boy who stood next to him in that long line of men had never lost his bright smile or the excited gleam in his wide blue eyes. He could pretend that instead of a year of hell, they had had a year of discussing their favorite concerts and traveling up and down the length of Europe.

He could pretend, and through his presence, let go.

It was time to leave this place. Sebastian carefully placed Ciel on the ground, brushing hair out of his eyes. He lifted Ciel's damaged hand and tucked it inside the folds of his shirt. Even in death, he knew the French boy would have his vanities. He wished that he still had Ciel's blue blazer, so that he could drape it over him and protect him from the rain. But that had disappeared long ago. One of the soldiers had decided he liked and stripped it off the poor boy, only leaving him his pink triangle.

Sebastian wondered whether he should remove the triangle from Ciel's shoulder and decided it against it. Let whoever found him see it, and recognize Ciel for what he was. Ciel wouldn't care. He would want them to see that he had suffered, and learn something from it- that no matter what they did to him, he couldn't help being who he was. What he was.

Sebastian knew he couldn't leave just yet. Something was missing. Lying there in the shadow of the shrubs, Ciel looked incomplete. He needed something of Sebastian's- a part of him to take with him to the grave, so he knew that Sebastian had not left him to rot. Sebastian's hand instinctively went to the seam of his shirt, where months before he had sewn a secret pocket. Yes. He knew what he had to leave with Ciel. It was only fitting.

Slowly, he drew his precious silver pen out of its hiding place. He cradled it between his fingers, rubbing his thumb over the familiar engraved lettering. Somehow, he knew his Mother would understand if he left it here. After all... She was a lost love herself. Slowly he bent down over Ciel's body, clipping the pen to the inside of his collar where no scavengers could see it. He held it for a moment, moving so his mouth was just above Ciel's ear.

"Take care of it for me," he whispered. "I'll come back for it and you someday- I promise."

He let go of the pen and pressed his lips to Ciel's cold cheek, just like he had done every night they spent in that horrible camp. He drew back reverently, stroking the boy's slate hair one last time.

"_Moi aussi, je t'aime_."

It was all that needed to be said.

* * *

**Anddddd you hate me. But that's okay. There will be an epilogue! **


End file.
